The temple was quieter now.
Not silent, not empty, but something had shifted in the air, as though the very walls knew they were missing a heartbeat that had always been there. The scent of crushed herbs and burning incense lingered, the same as it had every day, but the rhythm of the place—its pulse—felt different.
Aaravi was gone.
And the people who loved her were still learning what that meant.
Ravindra sat by the courtyard's small reflecting pool, his fingers skimming the water's surface. The cool ripples spread outward, distorting the reflection of the lanterns hanging above, stretching their golden light into wavering shapes.
Water never held still for long.
It shifted, flowed, changed.
Like his daughter.
He had always known this day would come. From the time she was small, Aaravi had possessed a heart that belonged to the world, not just the temple. She had tended to the sick and weary before she even understood what true suffering was. She had never belonged to this place, not really. The temple had been a nest, nothing more.
And fledglings did not stay in nests.
A soft rustling of fabric signaled someone's approach, and he did not need to look up to know who it was.
"A fool's expression if I've ever seen one," Mira's voice cut through the quiet.
Ravindra smirked. "You do love your insults."
"They keep me young," Mira replied, settling onto the stone bench beside him. "That, and watching old men mope over things they cannot change."
Ravindra chuckled. "I am not moping."
Mira hummed. "No, you're staring at water as if it will give you the answers you already have."
He sighed. "I know she had to go."
"And yet?"
Ravindra's fingers stilled against the water. "And yet, I worry."
Mira sighed, stretching out her legs. "As you should. The world is full of idiots, and she's going to have to deal with a great many of them."
Ravindra laughed, shaking his head. "Always so reassuring."
"But," Mira continued, tilting her head, "Aaravi is not soft clay waiting to be shaped by the world. She is stone—the kind that can withstand storms. She will not be swallowed by fate. She will bend it to her will."
Pride stirred in Ravindra's chest, but it was a pride tinged with longing. "I only wish—"
"You wish you could protect her," Mira interrupted, shaking her head. "You heal others, Ravindra, but this is not a wound you can mend."
Ravindra exhaled through his nose, his fingers curling slightly. Mira was right, as she often was.
A sound behind them made them both turn.
At the temple's entrance stood Rani.
She did not move closer, did not join them on the stone bench as she once might have. Instead, she stood in the threshold, back straight, arms crossed. A silent guardian of a place that had always demanded too much of her.
"Did she send word?" Rani asked, her voice even.
Ravindra shook his head. "Not yet."
Rani nodded, her expression unreadable.
"She will," Mira said, stretching lazily. "Aaravi was raised by both of you, after all. That means she is strong and stubborn—terrible combination, really."
Rani's lips twitched, but she did not smile. Instead, she exhaled and looked at the courtyard, taking in the empty spaces Aaravi had left behind.
For a long moment, none of them spoke.
Then Rani said, so quietly it almost wasn't heard, "I thought she would stay."
Ravindra turned fully now, studying his wife's face. There was no anger there, only something softer, something she rarely let show.
"You wanted her to stay?" he asked carefully.
Rani hesitated. "No. I—" She exhaled. "I always knew she would go."
Mira gave a dramatic sigh. "Then why all this brooding? You two are worse than an old married couple."
Rani shot her a glare, but Mira only grinned.
Ravindra, however, kept his gaze on his wife. "She reminds you of him."
Rani's entire body tensed.
Ravindra regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, but he knew they were true.
Aaravi had her father's patience, his healer's hands. But she had her mother's heart, too—a heart that kept giving, even when it should have stopped.
Rani had learned the hard way what that kind of heart could cost.
"She is not him," Ravindra said gently.
Rani swallowed. "I know."
But the fear in her eyes told him that did not matter.
The silence between them stretched.
Then Mira, as always, shattered it.
"Well," she said, slapping her hands against her knees. "Enough of this gloom. Aaravi is out in the world, probably making some warrior question all his life choices by now. The least we can do is be entertaining while we wait for her to write."
Ravindra huffed a quiet laugh.
Rani sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "You truly have no filter."
"Not since I turned sixty." Mira grinned. "I'm allowed to say whatever I please. It's one of the few benefits of old age."
Ravindra shook his head. "I should have known you'd see it that way."
"Obviously." Mira patted his shoulder before standing. "Now, let's eat. I'm tired of all this thinking. Thinking is dangerous."
Rani shook her head, but when she turned back toward the temple, she hesitated.
Ravindra saw it—the smallest flicker of something in her eyes.
A moment later, she walked away.
But maybe, just maybe, she would not walk so far this time.